


The bowl of milk on the hearth

by redsnake05



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Folklore, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:17:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4651953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old custom from Queen Helen's childhood has an unintended consequence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The bowl of milk on the hearth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marmota_b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmota_b/gifts).



Helen looked round her new house with pleasure. It was a cottage, nothing more, certainly not a castle, but she was sure she wouldn't feel comfortable in a castle anyway. Maybe one day, when they weren't all scraping and making to shape this land, then there would be time for throne rooms and robes and all the other, unfamiliar and vaguely imagined, intricacies of being a Queen. 

Three little rooms downstairs, and the kitchen the biggest of all, and the bedrooms upstairs under the sloping eaves, but the stone walls were set so close she couldn't feel a draught, and the oven was a beautiful thing of heavy iron, with shining copper pans. Out the open door she could see the small yard and the barn in the light of the setting sun, and the rose a dryad had coaxed to life was already climbing around the trellis she'd put up.

She poured milk into a bowl and placed it on the hearth, murmuring the blessing she'd learned as a child as she put it down. She straightened and stopped, looking down at the bowl, remembering her granny and her stories, her insistence on putting out food, and smiled. She would tell those stories to her daughters and sons, and the stories of this new world. She felt a little silly to leave out milk for a creature that couldn't exist here, but she thought of her granny's face and left it. It was nice to have a reminder of the good memories of home, as well as the sharp, hungry memories.

Helen didn't think anything of it when the milk was gone the next morning. She cleaned the bowl and stacked it with the others before she went out singing to her day's labours. Winter was closing in fast, and she wrapped up warmly, in a woollen cloak made from their own sheep.

Putting out the little bowl became a habit, filling it with whatever she had to hand. Honey bought by the Bears, little leftover griddlecakes, and sweet tiny apples all found their way into the bowl. She didn't wonder at the shining splendour of her copper pans or how the corners were always neatly swept. 

The first snowfall brought many Beasts to the little cottage. Helen carried in a Bat that had been injured when her branch had broken underneath her. She heated the water gently with a pinch of salt and a touch of honey, as the Bat directed her. She sat next to the fire and let the Bat cling to her arm as she warmed up and drank a little. The kitchen was quiet, only the crackling of the little fire for company, and Helen dozed in her chair.

She wasn't sure how long it was before she half woke. She thought at first that Frank was back from whatever emergency had called him away, but she stirred and opened her eyes a little and realised that she was still alone. Or perhaps not, she realised, as the odd scratching noise didn't recede. She blinked a few times and gasped as she saw the creature sweeping the hearth. It was small, brown figure, struggling with a broom far too big, and it dropped it and shrank back against the hearth when it realised she was awake.

"My apologies," Helen said, hardly daring to believe her eyes. "I did not mean to interrupt your work." She hastily tried to remember everything she had learned of brownies. She wasn't sure if it would even apply in this land, where she hadn't even known they existed. Perhaps they _hadn't_ existed, not until she'd left out the milk that first night. Her blood ran cold at the thought; what if she'd imagined dragons instead? 

"Not at all, mistress," said the brownie. "I like to help."

Helen barely stopped herself from thanking the brownie, remembering just in time that her grandmother had said brownies thought that rude. 

"You do an excellent job," she said. Surely that was nice, but not too close to thanks? The brownie nodded in recognition of the compliment and Helen breathed easier. 

"I shall get out of your way," she said. The Bat had hopped off her arm sometime and was now clinging upside down under the table somehow. The brownie nodded again as Helen made her way slowly upstairs. She heard the broom start up again as soon as the kitchen door was closed. She would have to see someone tomorrow about making a smaller set of tools.


End file.
